Jestti

As my daughter and I walked past a house in our neighborhood, I noticed how perfect the yard looked. The grass was a beautiful shade of green, the shrubbery was meticulously trimmed, and there were no weeds anywhere to be seen, just perfection – along with a sign that warned of the chemicals that had been used on the lawn. I guess that is what made the one dandelion stand out so much. There it was: big, bright, and yellow – growing in between the concrete slabs of the sidewalk. I wondered if it was a struggle to grow there, in that tiny space of dirt surrounded by cold concrete and harsh chemicals meant to kill it. My flower-loving daughter squealed with delight when she saw it and ran over to pick it. It had deep roots and she really had to pull hard to get it. All the way home she rejoiced over the beauty of that flower. She couldn’t wait to show it to her daddy and her siblings. An annoying weed to some, but the most beautiful flower and special treasure to her.

That made me think about how our lives can be like that dandelion. Doing our best to grow amid the stress of pressures surrounding us. Feeling all alone in our struggle. Feeling like there’s not enough to sustain us in our times of need, and the little bit that is available around us might actually be poisonous. 

Every time I looked at her dandelion, I pondered some of the specific times I have felt pressure from every side – family, friends, career – all screaming for me to fix their problems. And how that sometimes made me want to shrivel up and disappear. It made me think of the times when I was in the midst of a painful struggle and it seemed as though I was the only one struggling. Or that I was the only one trying to grow under all of these pressures. Or those times I experienced pain and reached out, but what I received from others felt more like poison instead of nourishment.     

This little weed was challenging my heart. It was strong, vibrant, and the opposite of shriveled up. Its roots had gone deep. It naturally knew to draw nourishment from a deeper source in order to survive. The pressures and risks around it made it even more strong and beautiful.

Was I doing as well in the midst of my struggles? Did I let my roots grow deep? Was I allowing space for growth in the hard times? Was I trusting that God wants what is best for me? Was I relying on Him to be my strength and nourishment? He was there in those struggles. His love was more than enough to provide during the hard times. He used those struggles to strengthen my dependence on Him.

I think I’ll join my daughter in rejoicing over the beauty of dandelions. Especially those that vibrantly grow in hard places.